6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (41 page)

I go down the cabin ladder and pass through
the kitchen into the dining area. Markus is the only one taking
care of Rice’s extensive injuries now. Hana is in one of the rooms,
crying.

I stop behind Markus. The wind whistles
through the open port windows. Rice lies on the bench on the
starboard side. Markus leans over her. Rice moans. Blood spills
from her and soaks the makeshift bandages. Markus doesn’t hear me
approach.

“There were small white roots in the wound,”
Markus tells Rice. “They were trying to crawl inside you. I think
I’ve got them all, but you may have gotten the virus.”

Rice doesn’t hear him. She’s dying, bleeding
out.

I watch Markus pull out a red syringe and
inject it into her arm. “There, now you can’t get sick. You’re
saved.”

I reach out and grab Markus’ arm. I squeeze.
He drops the syringe. Worry stripes his face like he’s busted with
his hand in the cookie jar. “Where did you get that syringe?”

O
ur camels are slow
but steady. After two days in the Sahara without food or water, we
finally make it to the secret CIA camp in Algeria. I’m so relieved
when I see the Apache helicopter over our heads I want to cry, fall
to my knees and thank the Lord. A Humvee approaches. Four soldiers
greet us with machine guns. As soon as they verify that Mitchell is
one of their own, we get the gold treatment.

The CIA camp is mobile, but you’d never know
it. It’s a steel building with thick rib-like girders all around
the outside of the structure. It looks like a futuristic spaceport
on a distant moon. Satellites mounted on the roof are pointed in
all directions. A two-story tower over the main command center has
a lookout and a very large gun mounted in a turret.

The center of the base is open, like a
doughnut, but shaded by tents. The Apache helicopter lands to the
side of the base, next to a handful of tan Humvees. There are
around thirty full-time personnel and a rotation of twenty or so.
Very nice people. The interior of the base is simple. It has metal
walls and a few plastic windows. I feel like I’m inside an open
accordion. I’m able to take a hot shower and given my own quarters.
I call my wife and leave her a long voice message. She’ll be so
glad to hear from me. I know how she has worried. After stuffing
myself with food and water, I fall sleep.

For days we wait. I’m not allowed to see
Mitchell, or anyone else, for that matter. They take statements
from me, deliver food, and take blood samples. We’d handed over the
Stone of Allah and the red envelope. I try two more times to get in
touch with Marian. I’m worried about her. I can’t wait to see her.
She’s in my dreams, on my mind constantly, and in my prayers. I
hope she’s not too mad at me.

Today we get to leave. Although I’m as sore
as an Israelite after the Exodus, I’m in good spirits. I’m excited,
so I pull my ol’ bones off the bed. We’re supposed to get a ride to
a major airport somewhere in Europe. As I get my shoes on an alarm
splits my ears. It’s six o’clock in the morning. Red lights flash
everywhere, replacing the yellow florescent lights. Down the hall
from my room there’s an army guard throwing up in the hallway. He’s
very sick. There is shouting on the other side of the base. I run
down the hall. Mitchell is holding his stomach.

“What’s happening?” I shout over the
alarm.

“Get back to your room!” Mitchell orders. The
whites of his eyes are filled with blood.

I run back to my room and close the thin
door. I’m sweating more than I should be. I look in the mirror. My
skin looks dark. Too dark. I see red in my eyes. There are more
shouts. I hear an explosion. The base rocks like there’s an
earthquake.

I hide myself in my quarters. I wait for
hours, hearing the screams and shouting slowly decline, though the
alarm is still blaring. I have such a bad headache that I think my
skull’s going to cave in on itself. I finally open my door, and,
while holding on to the walls, slowly work my way down the hall. I
get to the command center. It’s empty. There’s blood on the back of
a chair and papers strewn on the floor. I pick up a thick binder
from a table and use it to knock off the alarm speaker. It silences
one of the alarms. I slowly continue down the hallway, hand over
hand, leaning heavily into the wall. I knock off the speaker of
another alarm. Better. The red lights stop flashing. There’s the
phone booth. It’s the secure line I’ve been using to leave Marian
messages. I have to call her. My cousin answers the phone.

“Where in God’s name are you, Markus? And you
do not get to tell me you ain’t comin’ home.” She’s irate.

My head hurts, bad. I can hardly speak.
“Where’s Marian?” I mumble. Thick mucus rolls down my throat. I
cough.

“She’s dead, Markus! She was in an accident a
week ago. It wasn’t any accident. Someone cut her brakes! Where the
hell are you?”

I drop the phone and sink into the small
booth. God would not take my Marian away from me. I’m spinning. I
need medicine.

I struggle to my feet. The room next to me
has bunks, four total. Men are in each bunk. Three look dead and
the other is dying. He has thick, yellow discharge oozing from his
mouth and eyes. He’s barely moving. Every room I pass is filled
with sick people. Everyone that I’d met who ran the base is sick or
dead. The last room I stop by is a medical unit. There’s Mitchell
on the table. I check his pulse. He’s dead. The doctor is lying on
the floor next to him, also dead. I put my hands on Mitchell’s
chest and start praying. Mitchell and I had become pretty good
friends. He was the reason I am still alive.

“Thank you, brother, for saving my life,” I
whisper. “I’ll never forget you.” The room spins around me. I kneel
next to the doctor and throw up blood. If Marian really is gone,
I’ll see her now. I feel her closer now than I had in weeks. Here I
come, my love. Here I come.

I open my tear-filled eyes and look at the
counter across the room. A light and magnifying glass are
positioned over the Stone of Allah. It’s shimmering in the light.
There’s a chip on the stone. Next to it are a hammer and chisel.
The light on the counter brightens. It fills the small room with a
warm white light. I’m seeing double. There are two stones and two
lights. My heart starts racing. I’m dying. The light grows more
intense, outshining everything else. A blue light appears where the
Stone of Allah had been. It’s a brilliant blue amongst all the
white. It gets brighter and brighter.

I feel a deep vibration in my chest and a
cool breeze. The vibration makes my ribs tickle. The pain goes
away. All nausea leaves my body. I reach out to the blue light that
floats in front of me now. This is my time to meet God. I can smell
a pungent fragrance, like incense. The blue light forms into a kind
of orb. A burst of color and coolness pushes me off my knees and
onto my butt. I blink furiously so my tears won’t taint my vision.
A figure emerges from the orb. It’s wispy and fluctuating along
with the vibration in my chest. It’s like looking through ripples
in water at something under the surface. The shape focuses and
blurs. It grows into a white horse with pure white hair and
sculpted muscles. Its mane is so long and silky it hangs nearly to
the floor. The rider on top is a featureless shape, like a shadow,
only white, and surrounded by the blue light. It’s God. I am in the
presence of the Almighty God.

The white horse kneels reverently. It
flickers in and out of focus, but, when I can see it, the sight
makes me cry.

So much light. I can barely keep my eyes
open. I put my hand on the table to pull myself up. I keep my eyes
on God as I stand. He reaches out to me with His glowing white
hands. A small white light rises and presses into my chest. The
light clutches my heart and holds it still. So warm. The rest of my
body feels cool and still. My heart is warm. It begins filling my
limbs with a feeling I can only describe as hope.

God finally speaks. His voice is deep and
airy, solid, yet gentle, “You are my White Warrior. A crown is
placed on your head, My son. With justice you will judge. Lead this
world back into My body, for you are My White Warrior.” God’s hand
withdraws and His horse stands. His image flickers in and out then
looks to Mitchell. “And he will be My sword. Together you will
bring My children home, for there is a war in Heaven and I need
their love returned to Me.” A red syringe rolls across the floor
and stops at my foot.

God leaves me in that instant. I feel a
moment of clarity, though the pain returns with much violence. I
barely have the syringe in my hand before injecting half of its
contents into my arm. I turn and plunge the other half into
Mitchell’s arm.

A
fter the
Pioneer
was attacked by the tower of dead people, I’d gone
below. There was Markus. He’d just saved Rice’s life with an
injection from a red syringe; the same type of syringe that I’d
gotten when I’d launched the EMP rocket. “How did you get that?” I
ask. The boat rocks and I grab a wall handle to steady myself. I’m
slick with blue gunk but I don’t care.

A filthy and bloody Josh joins us in the
dining room. I give Josh the meanest look I got. He freezes. A glob
of brain matter rolls off his splattered medical mask. Markus puts
the syringe into a medical pouch then tucks it into his pocket. He
takes a deep breath. “I got the syringe and two others like it.
They were mailed to me over two weeks ago along with a note. It
said I was saved. That God loved me.”

“Why’d you get three of them?” I ask. My fist
tightens.

Markus shrugs. He puts a hand on an unwounded
part of Rice’s leg and holds it there. He takes a deep breath. “The
note said they were from Zilla. I assumed I was meant to save some
souls,” Markus answers.

I don’t know what to think. Who else was
given syringes? Who else was chosen to survive, and why?

“What’s in the syringe?” Josh asks.

“It would seem that the syringe contains an
anti-virus.”

“You have vaccines?!” Josh blurts out. Blue
shit spatters everywhere as he flings out his skinny arms. “I
almost died!” he yells. “Infection rate is over ninety percent! I.
. .I’ve been wearing this mask all this time!”

Markus shrugs. “I’m sorry, son. If you get
infected like Rice, I will share with you. You are a part of us,
too.” He looks at me. “I don’t know why I got three. Maybe I’d
touched someone’s heart. I had a big congregation. I reached my
audience through a prime time spot on Sunday morning television.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t always successful. After an eye
opening trip to Tunisia, I found my followers. Or, I should say,
they found me.”

“You’re a liar!” I scowl. I’ve never trusted
Markus and I’ve never known why. Maybe it was because he claims to
talk to God. I pull my shotgun off my back and point it at him. “I
should blast you right now!”

Markus holds his hands up. He doesn’t look
scared. Maybe because he’s fuckin’ crazy.

Josh reaches out. “Can I have the dose? I
don’t want to wait until those worms crawl into my skin.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t give it to you,” Markus
says. “You’re not infected yet.”

Hana comes down the ladder. “What’s with the
yelling?” The girl is similarly splashed with guts.

“Markus hid three doses of the vaccine from
us.”

Josh is so angry I expect steam to burst from
his ears any second. “I get a dose. I need it!”

Tanis and Ian come down the ladder and
shuffle into the space.